


god sent

by caesarions



Series: a human being can survive almost anything [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Ancient History, Ancient Rome, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other, Punic Wars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-25 21:39:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13221768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caesarions/pseuds/caesarions
Summary: Etruria dies by his younger brother's Roman hand between the two wars. On Hannibal's orders, Carthage is forced to trample on his dead lover's grave. Sure, Carthage might not eat or sleep anymore, but his Italian campaign does not have to be lonely. He could always find some respite in human company.The first entry in a trilogy about Anysus Barca and an unassuming human during the Second Punic War.





	god sent

**Author's Note:**

> TITLE: the meaning of the name 'mago/magon/MGN' in punic. this human mago is entirely an oc and has no actual part in history; he is not mago the writer, from the magonid dynasty, or mago barca. it just so happens that everyone had the same three gotdam names in carthage. the name is... also responsible for naming mayonnaise. neat.
> 
> NAMES:
> 
> carthage - anysus barca (lost to history, lightning)
> 
> etruria - aranth repesuna (prince, lost to history)
> 
> carthage's pet elephant - kbiir (large, named it when he was like three years old, okay)
> 
> rome - lucius marius priscus romulus (shining; of mars or masculine; ancient; the mythical founder, 'mr. rome')

**218 BC, Ticinus, Lombardy**

* * *

It was uncomfortably hot and stuffy in the tent; it was night and on the verge of winter, but Anysus’ natural heat and the blankets stopped them from seeping in. He received the best provisions, of course. He was their traveling good luck charm, just not pocket-sized. Whether or not they would actually do any good was up for debate. He was only _Ba’al_ of the Port, or Lord of the Port; they were far away from the port of Carthage, where his strength was its greatest, so Anysus did not know what they expected out of him.

Sleep avoided him as much as he avoided learning Latin, so he continued to fiddle with his bracelet and look at the ceiling. The glass beads twisted on the gold wire, red and green and purple. He stared at them with boredom and a pit of a stomach. It was a gift from his caretaker-turned-lover, the one Romulus thought to kill. Anysus hated his siblings too, mostly because they hated him first, but he would never think to annex them until they had nothing to live off of anymore. Aranth, curly-haired and bright-eyed, deserved a better death than the decades-long, crawling decline he'd been delivered.

The same death that was currently being delivered to Anysus.

Anysus could only dance around his exhaustion for so long, but it would catch up with him when it needed to. For now, it seemed like it didn’t. That was fine with him. Constantly waking up disappointed was a drag.

Feeling antsy, Anysus heaved himself up with a sigh. His feet carried him out of the tent without him registering until the damp, chilled air met his face. The Carthaginian blinked, adjusting to the silhouettes of tents and a few torches. His pet elephant would be sleeping, and Anysus didn’t want to bother his little Kbiir. Anysus started walking north and out of the camp instead.

Having all the strength sapped out of him from the Alps, Anysus sometimes still stumbled when he walked. He was doing well now, but only because the Ticino’s waterfront chill held not a candle to the peaks of the Alps. If he even died on the journey, Anysus could not remember. Mentally he did, with the death of each elephant.

The war had not even begun, and Anysus already felt defeat.

Rough water saturated the ground from the previous rains, November crying on them like a spoiled brat. Anysus tried to lift his feet to avoid it, but his sandals felt like sandstone bricks, and his legs felt like their own Numidian cavalry had cut his hamstrings. He let them drag in the mud anyway, quite certain a new pair would appear at his doorstep before he’d even mentioned they were ruined.

Humans were predictable; suck-ups most of all.

Anysus yawned suddenly, forceful enough to make him stop walking. He rubbed his eyes to almost ensure he wasn't hallucinating the path. It was amazing how rest avoided someone so doggedly tired.

After only a few moments outside, the oppressive mist had settled into his frame. He wasn't one to be cold easily, but the wetness urged him on. Rows of torches lining the path illuminated his peripheral vision, putting fear in his heart. There were no bonfires burning, thankfully, but that meant the night was too still. Anysus wrapped his arms around himself, too aware of being all alone in the camp. Not even the rambunctious Gauls were still awake. Aware the only people awake would be the guards, Anysus wobbled north. He had gotten to know the various habits of all the ethnic groups, whether Anysus wanted to know or not.

Replacing the crackling fire, the rumble of the river increased as Anysus walked forward. He wasn't envious of the Romans who would be walking into it the next morning. The fools, he thought. If he could kill even just  _one_ , Anysus’ mood might improve for a day. Anything to break the cycle of depression in lovely Aranth's absence. 

They were not even in Etruria proper yet—when there, Anysus might just collapse.

Muttering to himself, the Carthaginian finally approached the makeshift log wall borders of the camp. Two guard towers had been propped up at the entrance, black silhouettes in the even blacker night. Anysus couldn't see into either of the towers, but apparently, he didn't have to.

“Hello down there!” one of the two guards called. Looking around, only the man on the right could be seen waving to him. “What are you up to tonight?”

Anysus glanced at the man’s silhouette with a raised eyebrow. Not only was he _shouting_ with the Romans encamped just across the bank, but it was much too jovial of an approach. Though it was obvious Anysus was on Hannibal's side, already in the camp, a guard should always be wary.

“Just on a walk,” Anysus sighed, already exasperated. The man was dangling over the edge like an excited child.

“Outside the camp this late?”

Anysus did not know he could be annoyed at a shadow. “Well, I can't sleep,” he explained simply. “Sometimes that just happens.”

The guard made no move to stop Anysus from advancing past the gate. However, it was only when Anysus moved forward that his mind caught up to him. He brought a hand up to steeple at his chin. Without thought, Anysus did a heel turn and headed back to the ladder.

It was only a few short rungs, and Anysus could climb it with ease. His face appeared over the side of the platform, and the man turned towards him in surprise. Anysus spoke first.

“Was that fluent Punic?”

Now in lantern light, he was half-lit, but he was Carthaginian. The silhouette of the pointed nose, heavy brow, and thin arms gave it away. The autumn sun would have provided no tan, but he was Anysus' shade of light brown anyway. The Carthaginian tilted his head. “I sure hope so, unless you thought there was something wrong with it.”

Anysus hauled himself up onto the wooden platform. Real Punic, not babble from the Balearics, nor Numidian, nor whatever the Gauls spoke. Nor was it any dialect of Punic, with an Amazigh tint or the Iberian vocabulary of the Barcids. Anysus idly wondered why he never sought out the fighting Carthaginians before.

“No, it was just fine,” Anysus promised. Not very noble at all, but there was no desert accent, either. It was just enough. “Where are you from?”

“One of the working districts,” the man began to ramble. He swiveled to face Anysus full-on, bringing the lantern with him. “My father was a laborer, you know. He worked with bricks his whole life—”

While speaking, the Carthaginian had lifted the lamp between the two of them. Cutting off suddenly, he jumped back so far Anysus feared he would fall.

“Oh, my _Ba’al_! Your… majesty? I’m so sorry, I had no idea it was you.” The words came scrambled and unbidden. Anysus raised his hand for silence, but the man kept going. “You should have told me right away! Head on your walk! Please! The, uh, the river is lovely this time of night.”

Anysus finally got him to cease. “It’s pitch black.”

The man seemed to shrink, cowering into himself and scratching his beard. “...That it is.”

Sighing for the second time that night, Anysus leaned on the wall. “What is your name?”

“Mago! It’s Mago, my  _Ba’al_ ,” the Carthaginian answered too quickly. “...And maybe my father made bricks, but it was an honorable trade, I swear.”

Huffing, Anysus motioned for him to sit down on the only chair. Anysus slid down to the floor, spreading out his long legs for comfort.

“No, no! I should sit—” Mago started, but Anysus cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“Mago, I think your father’s work is fine. And you don't have to refer to me as anything,” Anysus muttered, crossing his arms tightly about his body.

“Alright, your  _Ba’al_ ship,” Mago nodded. Then, he looked horror-struck. “I mean, alright…”

“Anysus,” he finished for him. “Just Anysus.”

“Yes, Anysus, sir.” Mago set the forgotten lantern on the ground. Anysus noticed the other man staring at him for a long time, but it just might have been that the light was on him now. As for Mago himself, Anysus could now see small eyes with no discernible color, a curly mop, and an honest face.

“Wish I had some wine to offer you,” Mago mused, settling back into the chair. “Especially now that it’s hot up here. What's up with that?”

Anysus sucked in his teeth, trying to hide his expression with his hand. “Not sure,” he mumbled uneasily. “So, what did you do to end up with night-watch duty?”

Mago shrugged. “I volunteered for it.”

If Anysus could, he would have laughed. However, the mirth was trapped in his chest. His face fell instead. “Why in Melqart’s realm would you do that?”

“To prove myself,” Mago answered while puffing out his chest, as if it was simple. However, it ended in a yawn. If it was anyone else, it would have been comical, but Mago made it look sweet. “I want Hannibal to notice me.”

Anysus could save said a lot of things to the young man. It was likely Hannibal already knew him by name, though not for a good reason. After the disasters of the Sicilian Wars, there was no more Sacred Band. All native Carthaginians that signed up for the military afterwards were usually seen as without thanks or desperate.

But, if it gave Anysus a taste of home, it made no matter to him.

“Dear gods, I don't know why you'd want that,” Anysus half-smiled. “He’s just a man.”

“A man that could help me,” came Mago’s optimistic reply. “I want to be a politician when we get home. A _suffete_ , hopefully. One of the two; I don't care who my co-ruler is. I think I could get along with anyone. But, I need his support to get anywhere at all.”

Anysus’ head hit the wall as he leaned back, crossing his arms. Pinching his nose, he was suddenly reminded of why he barely interacted with humanity. “For… for what reason do you want to become a politician?”

“For many reasons,” Mago elaborated, though not very successfully. “For—for Carthage, at least.”

What a cheesy answer. It was hard not to smile then. “Go through the Council of Elders. You'll drown in the Tribunal of the Hundred and Four.”

The lantern was still illuminating the bags under his eyes, but Mago lit up then. “Thank you for the advice, _Ba’al_ … Anysus. Are gods in politics?”

“Only when we feel like it.” Licking his dry lips, Anysus shifted in his seat. “Uh… Do you have to fight tomorrow?”

“What kind of question is that?” Mago turned Anysus’ questioning game on himself. “I would volunteer to be on the front lines, if that were not the Gauls’ job.”

Anysus’ mouth twisted as his head lulled to the side. He sent up a silent prayer for the man. “I only asked because everyone is supposed to be resting well for tomorrow morning. Are you not included?”

“Sure I am, but the other guard is a slinger. Even if I wanted to sleep, I couldn't ask him. I can't speak… What do they speak on those islands?” Mago covered his face with his hands, genuinely worried about the topic. Halfway through thinking, his eyes closed for more than a minute.

Anysus heaved himself up, a task that was much easier in his youth. Even the wood was soaked through and dampening his cloak. “Well, I’m just saying that I could—”

“Is it just Iberian, or would they call it Balearian? That's a mouthful.”

“Mago.” At the sound of his voice, Mago finally looked up with an owlish stare. “I will take over the watch. Go to sleep.”

He looked at Anysus as if Anysus had sprouted a new limb. “You would do that for me?” Then, he grew reproachful, his eyebrows knitting in guilt as his hands raised. “I mean, you shouldn't do that, Anysus, sir. Someone is coming eventually, so I'll look bad to Hannibal if I can't stay awake a measly few hours.”

Anysus motioned for Mago to stand. He complied immediately, complete with a salute—Anysus rolled his eyes, thankful it was hidden by the gloom. “I will send the next man away, too. Everyone should be sleeping. At the very least, if you're not sleeping, then don't be fighting.”

Wounded, Mago put a hand over his chest. “I would never do that, sir.”

“I didn't think so.” In one move, Anysus picked up the lantern and moved it back to its original hook. “Go back to your tent and get some rest.”

Mago shimmied away from the chair, but he clutched his sword belt reluctantly. “It’s… all the way at the other side of camp. I'd be fine with sleeping here.”

“And catch a cold from the wet wood? I think not.” Anysus took a seat and moved it forward until it faced the river again. Then, he picked up the horn resting on the wood's edge and fiddled with it. They would not be using it tonight. Anysus sensed Romulus' presence was at rest, very far away; he wondered if his presence interrupted Romulus' sleep. He hoped it did. “The ground might not be much better, but it's safer.”

“Sir, you were sitting on it!” Mago exclaimed anxiously, touching an edge of Anysus' damp tunic. “You should have told me. Not to assume gods can catch colds, sir, but…”

Anysus set the horn down on his lap and settled in for a long night. “No, I wouldn't catch a cold.” Not like that, anyway. Only when Carthage's economy dipped. “Go to your tent, Mago, and goodnight.”

He could feel the young man hovering behind him for a few heartbeats, probably even more confused than Anysus thought he was. However, the wood underneath creaked with Mago’s bow. “Thank you, Anysus. Tanit be with you.”

He raised a hand in acknowledgement, but Anysus had not heard the ladder creak yet. When he turned his head, Mago was standing at the edge, eyes squinted in question.

“With all due respect, Anysus, if it pleases you, sir.” Mago crossed his arms. “What were you doing for the Gallic campaign and throughout the Alps? I would see you talk to Hannibal ‘n family, but then disappear again. Were you with us the whole time?”

The nation used one finger to rub his temple. He ground his teeth for a few seconds before giving an answer. “I was always with the elephants. They're mostly dead now.”

As soon as the answer came, Anysus saw Mago’s shoulders hike. A few garbled sounds came out before a real sentence. “...Oh. I’m sorry.”

“I am too.” Anysus slowly turned his head back forwards. If only that was where the war ended. No matter how wroth Hannibal was Anysus brought along his pet elephant, Anysus could not face Aranth's ghost alone. Though they were about to enter Aranth's land, Aranth's grave, without his permission, only Anysus and Kbiir knew of Aranth's identity. 

“You should introduce me to the remaining ones someday,” Mago suggested, trying to lighten the dark cloud that had enveloped the platform “I'd love to meet them.”

Leaning back in the chair wasn't working out as a comfortable position. Anysus leaned forward heavily instead. His chin came to rest on his two fists, his jutting, bony elbows digging into his legs in turn. The river ran like spilled ink, and Anysus prepared himself to stare into it all night. “I will,” Anysus promised quietly. “I will.”


End file.
